


Shelter Me

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Top Dean, Weecest, Well Sam is 17 so kinda, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:50:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has been stuck in a rundown motel for three days doing homework and waiting for Dean to get back from a hunt. When he finally comes back, his big brother is in a really shitty mood. It's not quite the homecoming Sam had been distracting himself daydreaming about. He hates to see his brother worked up like this but he won't be like this long - not when there's something Sam can do about it.</p><p>And Sam knows <em>exactly</em> what to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter Me

**Author's Note:**

> *sing song* it's more PWP people! *sprinkles pointless sexy words all about*  
> Someday I will write real stories again I swear to you I will. But I also tend to write through my emotions and I started this ages ago on a particularly pissed off day. Found it sitting unfinished in my folder and decided to wrap it up. Sam takes care of his big brother because damn, if I don't love me some vulnerable Dean and his tender, adoring little brother.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, friends!
> 
> Title from The Arkells' _Come to Light_ , a wincest anthem if I've ever heard one.
> 
> Thanks to my bestie with the hawk eyes [Dancing_Adrift](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) for the after-posting beta.

Sam is elbows deep in calculus homework, hunched over the cracked and worn formica table in their rundown motel-of-the-week when he hears the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the parking lot outside. He registers the sound of it implicitly, an echo rippling under his skin even though he doesn’t lose his focus on the numbers he’s working through on the page. Dean is back and Sam isn’t the same anymore even though his brother hasn’t shut off the engine yet. Sam’s thoughts are, impressively, still all arithmetic, desperate to finish at least this one last question, racing his own ability to deny the way his body is humming in an answer to the otherwise pregnant quiet as he hears the keys jingling in Dean’s hand, the sounds of the metal frame moving under his brother’s shifting weight, the door closing, and the heavy footsteps that follow.

 

Sam doesn’t look up when Dean turns his key in the door and swings it open even though he wants to. He knows better. He’s almost done with this problem but if he lets his eyes find Dean’s he’s done. Dean’s been gone three days and that’s three too many as far as Sam is concerned. So his brother steps inside and Sam frantically continues to scribble numbers when suddenly the motel door _slams_ shut with enough force to seemingly shake the questionable structure of the decrepit building. Not what Sam was expecting, he startles, dropping his pencil as his shoulders jump and he blinks. He twists in the seat to look over at his brother in surprise only to catch him as he chucks his duffle blindly at the foot of his bed and stomps directly into the bathroom, yanking the door behind him just as violently.

 

Sam’s stomach instantly knots. He caught enough of the high, tight set of Dean’s shoulders as he disappeared on the other side of the slamming door to know that his brother is _pissed_ . Sam is stuck staring at the closed bathroom, worrying his lip and thinking fast. _Dean was fine on the phone last night -_ tired _, but fine - and things were going okay with the hunt. Still haven’t heard from Dad since last week - maybe he called Dean? Maybe Dean has to leave again?_ Sam pales at that thought, his teeth still working over his bottom lip. He prays that isn’t the case.

 

He can hear his brother shuffling around in the bathroom, the shower turning on and his brother stepping in, the telltale clinking of the curtain rings. Sam wonders if maybe… But if Dean is _really_ angry, and Sam doesn’t know why, then maybe not. He sighs and takes his pencil in hand, finishes his last question and tucks away all his homework while Dean is still in the shower.

 

\---

 

When what seems like a lifetime later Dean emerges from the bathroom, silhouetted by the light before he turns it off and encased in the steam that escapes around him, Sam is sitting back against the headboard of his bed in nothing but his underwear and Dean’s old Skynard t-shirt, _The Two Towers_ open against his knees and his thumb absentmindedly in between his lips where he’s biting at the nail and trying not to read the same line over and over as he waits. He sneaks a look up at his brother through the veil of his messy hair where it’s fallen over his eyes and his stomach tightens again in time to the way he sees Dean clench his hand around the towel at his waist, his knuckles shifting in a wave. His brother is still wound up, still mad, and silent but for a loaded sigh as he stalks towards his bag to dig around for clean clothes.

 

Only the ancient lamp on Sam’s bedside table is on and Sam holds the book where it is and his posture the same but it’s only a piss-poor charade because he couldn’t tear his eyes from Dean’s still dripping skin if a hellhound was barking at their door. He watches through half-lidded eyes, his thumb still in his teeth, as his brother drops his towel and pulls on a pair of black briefs. He stands a moment at the foot of his bed, still not looking at Sam, not having said a word to him, before he sits down on the edge of it with more violence than is necessary, facing away from Sam as he does it. Sam would be hurt except that he knows Dean; he knows whatever that’s gotten under his skin - orders from Dad, a close call on a hunt, biting words from a stranger or particularly perceptive monster - Dean won’t be like this long, not when there’s something Sam can do about it.

 

And Sam knows _exactly_ what to do about it.

 

Sam’s always been a quick study - astute, eager - and there’s no subject he’s studied more than his big brother.

 

Sam watches Dean’s back a moment before building up the courage to move. His eyes track the flexing of the muscles in his shoulders as Dean no doubt clenches his fists in front of him, anger and God only knows what else making him tense with energy that makes him want to lash out, punch something or worse. Sam knows it’s at least partly why his brother doesn’t just come to him right away; Dean doesn’t always trust himself, doesn’t want to hurt his little brother, even though Sam knows he never could - not really. Another ripple visibly sweeps down Dean’s back, the light and shadows moving in waves on his freckled skin, and Sam can’t sit still any longer.

 

He puts the love-worn copy of Tolkien down on the table and moves with impressive quiet for the lanky seventeen year old body he’s piloting, all too-long limbs and boney bits, still knobby knees and elbows framed by lean muscle from a lifetime of training. He crawls down the length of his bed before taking the one step across the space between his and his brother’s, the mattress dipping under the weight of his knees as he shimmies closer to Dean. Sam doesn’t miss when his brother stiffens and his one hand fists in the comforter next to him just before Sam’s fingers light on his shoulders. Sam can hear when Dean opens his mouth and takes in a breath to speak, and he knows that when Dean sighs his name, long and broken, it’s not intentional; Dean was going to warn him, growl maybe, low and threatening like he does, beg Sam to go back to his bed, but Sam knows how to work his brother - always has. So right before the edge can fill his brother’s voice Sam digs into the muscles under his hand, his still spit-wet thumb pressing up the line of Dean’s neck, reaching for that soft skin behind his ear, and Sam can feel the exact moment when Dean involuntarily shudders and his body starts to give, stealing away the warning before it even had a chance.

 

Sam works the tips of his fingers into Dean’s flesh, rough because it’s how Dean likes it and how, sometimes, he needs it, and he hums contentedly when Dean finally melts under him, tilting his head back so his towel-dried hair is cool against Sam’s stomach where it makes the threadbare cotton of his borrowed t-shirt damp. Sam leans forward to see that Dean’s eyes are closed and his expression is softening, the lines at the corners of his eyes smoothing away. His lips part as he rocks his head languidly from side to side against Sam’s stomach while those long, little brother fingers work their magic.

 

Sam has always worshipped his big brother, and even though he’s had his hands on him for his whole life, he’s already hard and leaking where he’s trapped in the hollow between Dean’s shoulder blades. As he smoothes his palms across Dean’s collarbone, pressing his brother against him, he can’t help that he makes a small sound in the back of his throat at the perfect pressure of it, the way his hips push forward without any conscious thought.

 

“Sammy…” Dean breathes out, voice low and husky as he reaches back and grabs Sam’s wrist.

 

Sam knows he’s going to be taller than his brother - they’re already eye-to-eye and at seventeen Sam is hardly done growing - but his brother’s hand still looks unreasonably giant when it closes around him, thick, rough fingers making the bones of his wrist look fucking delicate, and Sam feels like he should resent that but instead it just makes his face hotter and his breath catch.

 

“No,” he croaks out. His voice breaks even on the one small syllable because all it takes is a single deliberate touch from his brother and Sam starts to come undone. Dean always puts Sam first - even now when he’s the one stressed out and tense - and Sam wants this to be for him. “Let me, Dean.”

 

His big brother makes a grumbly, wordless sound by way of answer but it’s assenting enough, dragged out at the end as Sam slides his hands back and kneads into Dean’s shoulders. Sam ignores the way his dick throbs and twitches in his boxers, instead watching as Dean’s hands alternatively fist in the comforter and then relax, going loose as Sam rubs up and down his brother’s neck, pressing circles in behind his ears. Sam keeps focused on his task until he’s fairly certain the soft, almost too quiet to hear sound he’s picking up is Dean, practically purring.

 

His brother’s body is heavy and lax along the tops of his thighs, his head still lazily tipped back against his stomach and his eyes are closed; just when Sam thinks Dean is completely gone, his brother hums deliberately and starts to turn to look at him.

 

“Sammy-” he starts, but Sam cuts him off.

 

“Dean, wait-”

 

“Sam, I know what you’re doing.” Dean talks over him, grabbing his wrist again, and looks up at him with his chin pillowed on Sam’s stomach, his body twisted as he’s still sitting facing away. Sam huffs.

 

“Well, yeah. But…” Sam bites his lip and looks away. When his eyes find Dean’s again, his brother is just waiting, eyebrows raised in question. Sam sighs.

 

“You don’t have to talk about it. I just… want to make you feel better.” Sam chances a look at him again only to see Dean’s smile slowly turn into a broad, lascivious grin. Sam feels his cheeks heat instantly and he huffs again, frustrated at how quickly Dean is turning this around, pulling the rug of good intentions out from under him.

 

“You _always_ make me feel better, little brother.” Dean says it emphatically, lewdly stressing the words and wiggling his eyebrows as he starts to move, getting his knees up on the bed like he’s about to stalk forward and plough right over his brother.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam whines, trying to cross his arms. He didn’t mean for it to come out so petulant but Dean always does this. Meanwhile, his brother is chuckling softly under his breath as he shimmies forward on his knees, reaching to undo Sam’s arms.

 

“What? This isn’t what you want?” Dean is still smirking.

 

“No.” Sam says, and his voice trembles still because his brother is looking at him darkly and those big hands of his are closing around his wrists; Sam tries to resist only because he had other plans.

 

Dean notices the shaky sound and stills, hesitating, and for a split second Sam sees in his eyes a flicker of worry as he misinterprets his brother’s unsteady no.

 

“No, not-” Sam quickly reassures him, then takes a deep breath. “Just… let me do it? _Let me_ , Dean.”

 

Dean takes in Sam’s expression seriously for a moment, still on his knees in front of him with his hands on Sam’s wrists, his thumbs gently moving across the tender skin like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. Sam swallows thickly, waiting for Dean to agree.

 

“Yeah, okay. Okay, Sammy. What…?” He starts, not sure what Sam wants.

 

“S-sit back?” Sam stutters quietly, cursing his nerves as he gestures behind him to the headboard. This isn’t new between them but it’s too easy, usually, to follow Dean’s lead.

 

“Alright.” Dean starts to move, but only after leaning forward to place a kiss at the corner of Sam’s mouth, lingering there for just a moment, telling him without words that everything’s okay.

 

Sam turns to watch his brother crawl up the bed and as he stacks the pillows Sam finds his voice again.

 

“Take off your clothes.” It’s barely above a whisper but Dean hears it anyway.

 

“Hmm,” he grins. “Good idea. Always so smart, Sammy.”

 

Dean strips quickly, tossing his shirt and boxers somewhere on the floor. He sits, settling against the pillows with his legs relaxed and fallen open in front of him.

 

“You too, kiddo,” he grins. He’s only four years older but times like this - using nicknames Sam loves more than he will _ever_ admit out loud - Dean always makes Sam feel so young. A part of him thinks it’s another thing he should resent but here, when it’s just the two of them, he really, _really_ doesn’t.

 

Sam obliges his big brother, moving slowly as he folds his arms to grip the ratty hem of Dean’s old t-shirt and tugs it up and off, shaking his mussed hair out of his eyes as he drops it off the edge of the bed. Sam can feel the weight of his brother’s heated gaze and it sends a flush up his chest and into his cheeks; it makes him shake a little but he loves it, all of Dean’s attention on him and far away from whatever had him so wound up when he first got in.

 

Sam makes a show of the way he slides his boxers down, crawling forward and leaving them forgotten behind him while his brother’s eyes fall to his dick. Dean bites his bottom lip and clenches his hands where they lay. Sam is almost impressed; Dean’s cock is hard and leaking on his thigh, twitching at the sight of his brother coming towards him and Dean doesn’t reach of himself or Sam, just waits.

 

Dean meets Sam’s gaze as he straddles his big brother’s lap and tucks himself in close. Sam swears he can feel Dean’s lashes flutter as they shut when they kiss. Their cocks are trapped between them as Sam settles, and he rocks his hips to rub them together while he teases Dean’s lips apart with his tongue.

 

“Gotta touch you Sammy, please. Can I, little brother?” Dean mumbles it against Sam’s lips and it makes Sam shiver as he nods. Both of Sam’s hands are on either side of Dean’s face and as they keep kissing, Dean’s find a home, too; one hand buries in Sam’s hair and the other spreads warm and encouraging across the small of his back.

 

Dean lets Sam control their pace, just opens for him as he kisses deeper, echoing Sam’s hungry little sounds with pleased moans of his own. Every time Dean tugs a little at Sam’s hair, Sam’s fingers shake and hold a little more tightly where they’re clutching at his big brother’s face. Dean’s other hand roams up and down his back, big and rough against his skin when he presses Sam in closer because they just can’t get close enough.

 

It isn’t long before Sam is breaking the kiss, gasping for air and the way they feel rubbing together, rock hard and getting sticky with each other’s precome.

 

“‘K, Dee, just-” Sam pants and lifts up a little off his brother’s lap, though he keeps leaning down to kiss at Dean’s bruised mouth because he simply can’t stop. It’s enough of a distraction that Dean doesn’t realize what Sam is doing until he’s steadying himself with a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, fuck- yeah, Sammy. Shit,” he curses, his voice breathy and touched with awe as he tilts his head to better take in the sight; Sam’s back is bowed, his chest pressing out and against his brother, his other arm reaching behind him.

 

Sam lets himself be loud as he works his fingers in. Their dad is two states away and he could care less about the neighbours; surely this motel has seen and heard worse than them. Sam knows Dean loves it and that’s all the reasons he needs. He moans at the stretch, his other hand digging into the meat of Dean’s shoulder as he hangs on. Dean’s eyes are completely focused now on Sam’s face - he can _feel_ the way the his brother is looking at him - and his hands are gently stroking up and down Sam’s arms.

 

“That’s it, baby. Get yourself ready for me, yeah.” Dean’s voice is husky and makes Sam shiver even as he strains to get deeper. Dean tilts his chin up to nose along the side of Sam’s face, nip at his jaw. “How many you got in there, Sammy?”

 

Sam is panting so hard, writhing on his own hand, that it take a moment before he can get the right sound out.

 

“Three,” he finally answers, the word cut short by a sharply drawn breath, and Dean honest to god growls as he buries his face in Sam’s neck.

 

“ _Jesus Christ,_ ” Dean says through his teeth, like it hurts. “Fuck. You got lube up there, too? Already open yourself for me, baby, is that it? When I was in the shower?”

 

Sam nods silently as Dean asks, his hair shaking about his head, getting in his eyes or sticking to the sheen of sweat at his temple. He whines because Dean is dragging his teeth along his jaw and his big brother’s hips are moving in a choppy rhythm underneath him, restless and demanding.

 

Sam’s fingers brush his prostate and he cries out, his bitten nails digging deep drawing half-moons on his brother’s skin, his body jerking forward.

 

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean moans, too. “Gotta get in there, baby. Can’t- _uh_! Can’t wait another minute. Need you- need you now. C’mon.”

 

It’s everything Sam wanted to hear. He winces as he takes his fingers out. They’re slick and he uses them to reach under him for Dean’s dick.

Dean gasps as Sam touches him and keeps him steady. In the next breath, Sam is lining up the slick head of his brother’s cock at his hole and as he relaxes it pushes easily past the first stretched out ring of muscle and then Sam is sliding down, settling back on Dean’s lap while they both suck in harsh breaths and their chests heave.

 

Sam stays still for a moment, adjusting to the pain-pleasure of the stretch-burn, feeling his brother hot and thick inside him, making him full, so much more full and so much better than his fingers.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” he breathes, his hands digging into both of his brother’s shoulders like he’ll die if he lets go. Sam can barely think past the intoxicating pleasure that sweeps through him every time Dean gives an experimental thrust of his hips. It’s good it’s so good but it’s not enough; Dean doesn’t have the leverage to do more in this position but then that was the point. Sam pants and moans, near-mindless as he rubs his nose and lips, tongue and teeth along the side of Dean’s face, kissing, nipping, licking but mostly just trying to remember to breathe.

 

“Aw, Sammy, yeah, that’s it. Ride me, baby,” Dean’s voice is rasping and desperate but still gentle like his hands, light and encouraging on Sam’s side. The words somehow make it through to what’s left of Sam’s brain and he finally remembers to move, too.

 

He pushes himself up until he feels the head of Dean’s cock catching on his rim and slides back down.

 

“ _Fuck!_ ” His brother cries out and Sam could just float away, it feels so good to be the one wrecking Dean like this. He grips Dean’s shoulder tighter with one hand and the other slides up the curve of his brother’s neck. Then he does it again - all the way up, all the way down.

 

“Jesus, shit. God, _Sam_ ,” Dean shudders underneath him as Sam sits all the way back down. His hands slide down Sam’s back and then they’re cupping his ass cheeks, pulling Sam to him fiercely as his head tilts back against the headboard.

 

Sam grins. He is breathless and panting then as he starts up in earnest, not slow and stilted but a steady rhythm as he fucks himself on his big brother’s dick. Dean’s hands stay tight on his ass, lifting and pulling and grinding them together. He tugs Sam in that little bit closer and the angle changes just enough, each stroke brushing Sam’s prostate and making him shake and cry out. He’d be afraid he’d break apart but Dean’s lips are against his, kissing when they can despite the jostling rhythm, and his big brother is mumbling near-incoherent reassurance and love, words like blessings and praise and dirty, dirty sin all wrapped up together because neither of them can keep anything straight when Dean is getting lost in Sam’s body, when he’s making them whole.

 

“Yeah, yeah, uh, uh, _uh_ , _fuck_ , Sammy, yeah- so tight, so fucking tight- god, you’re perfect, so good to me baby, take me so good, shit- everything, you- _Sam_ , _uh_ , you’re mine, baby boy. Gonna make you mine, mark you up inside, little brother. Feel so fucking good, gonna fill you up-”

 

“Dean!” Sam comes with a shout. He drops his head to his brother’s shoulder and as he shudders through it, his hips bucking, his rhythm breaks but Dean’s hands are still digging prints onto his ass and Dean is grinding him down as he fucks up into Sam’s tightening heat. Sam can feel the wet hot mess he’s making between them but then Dean grunts and lets out a strangled sound that could only have been Sam’s name and he’s coming, too. Sam feels every twitching pulse of his brother’s cock, the blooms of heat inside him and he sighs, long and satisfied.

“Dean, Dean, Dean…” Sam is quiet now, they both are. His body is heavy and lax and he is simply crumpled in his brother’s lap, curled into his brother’s body. He rocks his forehead on Dean’s shoulder, his eyes closed as he whispers his big brother’s name.

 

Dean gingerly lets go of Sam’s ass and smooths his hands up and down his back instead, just for a moment, before he uses them to smooth back Sam’s hair, petting it back and leaning down to kiss the sides of Sam’s face.

 

“Yeah, Sammy,” is all he says, just as quiet against Sam’s temple, and Sam shivers but hums in response. There are a lot of ways to say _I love you_ in Winchester, and the boys have always been able to say everything they need to in so few words, in just their names.

 

Sam feels Dean smile against him before he hugs him tightly and tucks his head in close next to Sam’s, sighing.

 

“Thanks, kiddo,” he adds eventually, nuzzling that little bit further into the hollow of Sam’s neck.

 

Whether he’ll go on to share what was bothering him, Sam doesn’t know. He also isn’t worried. Dean is loose, content and satisfied because of him. As far as Sam is concerned: mission accomplished. He smiles drowsily to himself, a little smug. It’s no secret to anyone that Dean’s first priority in life is taking care of him. He loves Dean for it even if sometimes he still wants to punch his brother in his perfect, protective face, but what Dean might not realize is that he’s Sam’s first priority, too. Dean would probably baulk at the idea if Sam ever said it in so many words - _yeah except_ I’m _the big brother here, squirt. ‘S my job to look out for you_ \- but Sam figures that’s okay. Sam will always take care of him anyway.

 

He shifts a little and feels the tacky pull of the mess drying on their stomachs, the slow drip of Dean’s come as it starts to leak around his brother where he’s getting soft, but Sam only moves enough to tuck his arms in between them, trapped between their chests, and Dean tightens his embrace as they settle again. If Dean’s in no hurry to move, neither is Sam; it wouldn’t be the first time he fell asleep like this, fucked out and still full, only to wake up in the morning cleaned up with Dean curled up behind him and a vague, dream-like recollection of his big brother moving them and tucking him in.

 

The sleepy tracing of Dean’s thumbs moving on his back and the feeling of _home_ warm in his chest are the last things in his mind as Sam drifts off, safe in the arms of his big brother knowing they’re _both_ safe - in each other’s arms.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, for reading. Comments and kudos make my wee little world go round ❤


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